


Surreptitious Retribution

by EnovonsAngel93



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Bisexual Richie Tozier, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Human Pennywise (IT), Masturbation Interruptus, Mindfuck, Pennywise Being an Asshole (IT), Public Masturbation, Situational Humiliation, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 00:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30013002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnovonsAngel93/pseuds/EnovonsAngel93
Summary: Those brats sent IT to bed early. Unable to sleep, IT leaves ITs nest and exacts revenge on the only Loser left in town. However, things don't quite go as planned and IT starts to develop some conflicting emotions towards the grown-up Tozier boy.AKA Pennywise is Richie's roommate from Hell
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Pennywise & Richie Tozier, Pennywise/Richie Tozier, Robert "Bob" Gray/Pennywise (IT)
Kudos: 7





	1. The Fruits of Hubris

Because of those brats, IT had gone to bed early. IT was starving and agitated and it was all their fault. Bill Denbrough, Richie Tozier, Stan Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh: IT would never forget those names for as long as IT lived. It wasn't that they were the first to band together; no, not at all. Many humans had tried to destroy IT over the past several millenia. They'd gathered in packs and had armed themselves in all manner of ways. None of them had realized that IT fed on their fear. First they'd assumed IT was some kind of animal, some ravenous beast that needed to be hunted and killed. That'd turned out poorly for them time and time again. After a while the humans caught on to ITs supernatural properties--particularly ITs ability to be in numerous places at once and ITs penchant for shapeshifting. They'd begun offering IT sacrifices in the hopes of allaying ITs unfettered attacks on their population. IT played along for a bit, but eventually IT got back to slaughtering the humans indiscriminately once more. Why shouldn't IT? IT considered ITself to be a veritable god.

That was, until, those children came along.

Bill Denbrough was the first to cross ITs path. Actually, it was Denbrough's younger brother. Georgie. Cute little Georgie. Who would've thought a tiny little six-year-old would be the start of ITs undoing? Not IT, certainly not. The encounter had started out in the same way they always did. Georgie was unbelievably naive, even for a child, and was easily amused with ITs Pennywise persona. As with all of ITs prey, IT had been watching the boy beforehand. IT knew that Georgie idolized his older brother and that was why it'd taken so long to get the littlest Denbrough alone; Georgie was practically attached to Bill at the hip. Though it was quite annoying, the brothers' closeness provided a challenge that IT was eager to accept. It hadn't taken much, just a whisper in Bill's ear, a bit of temptation urging Bill to feign sickness and let his brother go out alone for once. Bill had given in and had sent the youngster out with a walkie-talkie and a homemade paper boat. However, Bill was in possession of an uncannily strong intuition and had thus gotten a feeling that something wasn't right.

So wrapped up in the thrill of the moment IT was that IT almost didn't notice when Bill came flying down the street on that raggedy silver bike of his. IT could see the older boy not with ITs physical eyes, but in the way that IT saw all the goings-on in the city. Bill's impromptu arrival startled IT and gave Georgie the time to take the proffered boat right from ITs extended gloved hand. IT had growled in anger, had bared ITs sharp teeth and had stunned the little six-year-old into falling backwards onto his butt. Bill had seen the look of horror on his brother's face and had called out to him. Georgie had then been the one that was distracted as he turned to Bill and IT had seized on ITs prey, latching onto the boy's ankle with a suddenly-clawed hand.

Georgie had shrieked in pain and alarm and Bill had shouted his brother's name again. Bill had then hopped off his bike, letting it clatter onto its side in the middle of the street, and had charged over to his baby brother's defense. IT had begun reeling Georgie into the sewers by the leg. The thought of snatching one of the siblings away from the other had caused a swell of triumphant glee to blossom within ITs body. But that never happened. Bill had rushed over just in time to wrap his gangly arms around his brother's upper body and the two had engaged in a sort of tug of war: the fifteen-year-old boy against the ancient cosmic being. Georgie was shrieking at the top of his lungs, Bill was holding onto his brother and pulling back with all the force he could muster and that had turned out to be more than his slight frame would lead one to believe. Bill had locked eyes with the beast that had his brother and he hadn't looked away. IT was again surprised, this time at Bill's utter lack of fear. Surely IT would've expected Bill to cut and run once he'd seen ITs snarling face but Bill had only narrowed his dark blue eyes and had pulled even harder. IT had yanked on Georgie's leg and had made the boys come tumbling forward, Bill having lost his balance. IT was about to reach out and take them both. Before IT could, Bill had raised one leg and kicked IT square in the face.

How embarrassing.

IT hadn't known it at the time, but that burning feeling in ITs cheeks, that tightening in ITs chest, that raging anger had all stemmed from the embarrassment of having the underside of Denbrough's converse come into painful contact with ITs painted white face. Bill had finally freed his brother from the monster's clutches. The two had fallen backwards onto the road with Georgie sobbing and shuddering in his older brother's arms. The eldest child hadn't wasted a moment in leaping to his feet and running back over towards his overturned bike. Bill had mounted it with Georgie in his lap, the child's arms looped tightly around Bill's neck and his two legs--one of them bleeding profusely, wrapped around Bill's torso. IT had burst from the sewers in the form of a wild, rabid dog and had chased after the pair. Georgie had witnessed ITs pursuit with wide-eyed terror but Bill had kept his gaze dead-ahead and had pedaled away as fast as he could. Someway, somehow, Bill had managed to outrun the closest thing in Derry to the devil himself. It was the first time in...ever that a meal had gotten away from IT. IT had been enraged, not just at the boys but at ITself. How could that have happened? IT could only cite the fact that IT had let ITs guard down and had underestimated Denbrough's strange connection with his baby brother.

That connection grew ten-fold in the time following Georgie's attack. Bill's already dutiful sense of protectiveness was heightened to obssessive levels. Bill refused to let Georgie out of his sight--he'd begun escorting the boy to and from school rather than just to the bus stop with the other children. Bill brought Georgie along wherever he went, whether that was to the corner store or to one of his friends' houses. Bill's behavior caused some tension in the Denbrough household, specifically between him and his father. His father took it as a slight against him--Zach already felt responsible for what happened to Georgie and having Bill take the reins in ensuring Georgie's safety felt like salt in the wound, like Bill was insinuating that Zach wasn't capable to do that himself.

IT had exploited Zach's insecurities and had done all IT could to exacerbate the anger they caused in the patriarch. IT tempted Zach to drink more and that in turn led to frequent outbursts--Zach left marks and bruises on Bill where IT could not. Bill weathered his deteriorating relationship with his father with hardening stoicism. IT had hoped for a similar legacy of self-destructive violence as IT had seen with Butch and Henry Bowers but Bill kept his resentment compartmentalized; his love for his mother and his younger brother remained strong, and he was able to take solace in the company of his friends. IT couldn't get Georgie alone again, and all of ITs attempts only bolstered Bill's resolve in tracking down the monster and putting a stop to IT.

Part of IT had laughed at Bill's intentions, but part of IT was truly disturbed at the young man's determination. Bill's spirit was one that never wavered and one that didn't shy away from self-sacrifice and bravery. It was unlike most in Derry; most were content to ignore ITs constant rampaging and would certainly never bother to seek any sort of justice for their fellow man, woman, or child. IT had continued to hunt that season and Bill had taken notice, had compelled his three friends to notice, too, and the four of them--plus Georgie--had done some amateur investigation. Still, IT wasn't really concerned. In fact, IT had begun terrorizing Bill's friends in the hopes that they would blame Bill for them being targeted by the monster that Bill wouldn't shut up about and would be led to keep their distance from him. That had backfired.

The shared trauma only drew them closer together, and not only that, their little group had managed to grow from four to five with the addition of Ben Hanscom. IT had seen Ben getting attacked and had been delighted when the husky boy had vaulted himself over the side of the bridge: Ben had gone running right towards the barrens, towards ITs lair. IT had also seen Bill leading his friends towards those same barrens to hunt for IT. Bill's father worked for the city's Department of Public Works, so Bill had access to various maps and schematics of the town's layout. Bill had reason to believe that if there were a monster lurking within the sewers, it might be found in or around the barrens. Bill had even stolen his father's gun and had planned to shoot IT once their group came across IT. When they ran into Ben--or vice versa--IT had expected the lot of them to go running into the sewers to escape the Bowers' Gang. That would've led them right into ITs waiting jaws. Instead, Bill had directed his friends back towards the city to get Ben patched up.

Like a domino effect the group then gained another member in the form of Beverly Marsh, and because of her and Bill's altruistic tendencies, they happened to induct yet another boy to their ranks--Mike Hanlon.

Seven.

Seven teenagers and one little boy that was barely out of diapers should still not have posed a threat to IT, so IT continued to hunt other victims while the seven continued to discuss plans of destroying IT. They actually rallied together and stormed the house on Neibolt Street. IT had watched their arrival with amusement and had anticipated devouring them all. Again, things hadn't gone down the way that IT'd predicted. That had been the day that IT had received ITs first injury at the shaking hands a fifteen year-old girl. The little redhead had looked just as stunned as IT did upon thrusting the bladed fence post into the side of ITs skull. Pain was as new a sensation as it was unwelcome as it radiated through ITs physical form. That pain led to anger as IT shifted into a werewolf and turned slowly to the terrified group of youngsters. ITs claws had elongated and had itched to tear into their flesh, but IT wasn't prepared for the bout of dizziness and doubling vision that accompanied a vicious head wound. Shifting forms had only made things worse and IT could tell that IT was going to pass out if IT didn't stop and heal ITself.

Of course IT couldn't do that in front of the children. Showing any sign of weakness would raise their confidence and IT had no doubt that they'd jump on an opportunity to further weaken IT. So, with a final strike against one of ITs small enemies--IT scratched ITs claws across Ben Hanscom's stomach--IT retreated back into the depths of the well. Unfortunately Bill had followed IT and saw IT descending. IT couldn't attack or come out of ITs well for the next few weeks. In that time IT's problem almost solved itself--the Losers hadn't escaped the Neibolt house unscathed, after all. They'd been so shaken up after the encounter that they'd gone their separate ways, leaving them easy targets for IT to pick off. IT overheard Bill and Beverly plotting to launch another attack and, with them being arguably the group's most resilient members, IT had reason to nip their plan in the bud. That decision came back to haunt IT.

In taking Beverly from her father's apartment, IT had unwittingly caused the group to reform and come to her aid. Not only did they retrieve her from ITs Deadlights--something that IT had never known to be possible--but they'd ganged up on IT and had beaten IT into shameful submission using the very trophies IT had collected from ITs previous victims. IT hadn't died, but ITs favorite form had been irreparably destroyed: Pennywise the Dancing Clown had shattered and now had to be rebuilt from scratch.

If IT rebuilt it at all; perhaps it was time to retire the old clown?

That wasn't the only thing IT was having second thoughts about. In the wake of ITs defeat at the hands of the Losers, IT had been forced to confront some troubling truths about ITself and ITs methods.

IT was having an existential crisis.

The fact that IT had been overcome by those children and driving into early hibernation was a wake-up call. For so long IT had coasted along, feasting as IT pleased and not giving much thought to ITs actions. IT had just been mindlessly eating and sleeping over and over. Being challenged and bested made IT wonder whether IT had allowed ITself to become dangerously predictable.

 _The fruits of hubris are bitter, indeed,_ IT frowned as IT rested on ITs back in ITs nest.

The form IT was in was a disturbing mix of clown and arachnid, with ITs eight spindly limbs and rounded thorax body. IT was still festooned in ITs dirty silver costume, cracked makeup, and limp red hair, the last vestiges of Pennywise. ITs nest was a circular bed of stalagmites, the same spot IT'd crash landed on Earth in so many centuries ago. It was far below the city of Derry, below the below the sewers themselves. It was a deep and dark cavern with tunneled walls and blessed silence. In that silence IT tossed and turned in fitful moments of sleep. IT was constantly awakening from hunger pangs and nightmares, both of which IT never before had to experience.

 _I really hate those children_.

Sometimes IT would dream of them.

IT liked the dreams where IT chased them down and tore them apart, where IT took ITs time in rending the flesh from their bones. These dreams would inspire old feelings of sadistic glee, but after the nightmares started IT felt new emotions, none of which IT liked, such as regret and shame and--ironically--fear. After each nightmare IT would rouse abruptly with ITs heart pounding and ITs spider-like body coated in sweat.

 _Where do I go from here?_ That wasn't a question IT thought IT would ever ask ITself and yet...

By now IT knew that IT couldn't underestimate the Losers anymore. If left unchecked, they'd end up destroying IT for good--IT was aware of the oath they all made that fateful day in the woods near their little clubhouse. They'd promised to return at the start of the next cycle and destroy IT. IT no longer doubted that they would be able to do such a thing. IT had seen a vision of the seven adult Losers surrounding IT while IT took ITs last, labored breath and faded from the world altogether. IT couldn't let that vision come to pass. But what could IT do to stop them? Things were already set in motion, all IT could do now was wait for the inevitable encounter and do ITs best to fend them off.

 _I should've dispatched them sooner,_ IT thought, cursing ITs arrogance. IT began to reflect on each individual Loser and ITs feelings towards them all.

Bill. A rival of ITs own making. Bill already had a hero complex but attacking Georgie and then waving it in Bill's face, provoking Bill with nightmares of IT coming back for his brother had sent the eldest Denbrough over the edge. IT had bred a vicious streak in Bill that was only tempered by the boy's moral code. Part of IT wanted to test the strength of that code, IT wanted to push Bill further and further, IT wanted to get him to succumb to his inner dark side. Wouldn't that be fun? The hero becomes the evil it once fought against. But a bigger part of IT just wanted to kill him. IT wanted to make him suffer. Bill was the leader of the Losers' Club and bringing him down would demoralize the others.

 _It's too bad that Billy moved away_ , IT frowned: IT couldn't sense Bill's presence in Derry anymore.

Time passed differently for such an eternal being; what had been a brief period of agitated napping for IT amounted to over a decade or so on Earth. In that time, Bill had not only gone off to college but his baby brother was now about to graduate high school and do the same. IT could go after Georgie, seeing as how the seventeen year old was still within reach, but without Bill around to witness it just wouldn't be the same.

Ben was gone, too, having left two years into high school to take an architecture apprenticeship in Bar Harbor. That same year Eddie was forced to move to New York with his mom to care for her ill older sister. Stanley's parents divorced in the middle of his junior year at Derry Public High. He moved down to Atlanta with his mother while his father stayed behind and continued to head the synagogue. Mike's responsibilities at his family's farm grew to the point where he was able to come into town less and less, and then not at all. And Beverly was actually the first to disappear; the fifteen year old ran away from home in the middle of the night, shortly after the group's victory over IT. The only Loser left was Richie Tozier, the one IT hated the most. Although, to be fair, the feeling was probably mutual regarding the coulrophobic boy.

IT had faced an unprecedented loss and was thus unable to stop ruminating on ITs failure. IT needed to occupy ITself with something, but what? Perhaps a bit of revenge was in order. Those impudent children had come barging onto ITs turf and had gotten the best of IT, they'd made IT feel unsafe and wary in ITs own domain. The only way to restore some normalcy was for IT to deal with them, if only one of them. To face even one of the Losers, however, could still be quite dangerous, but that only added to the appeal. What was life without a little risk?

 _Besides, it's only Tozier,_ IT sneered in derision.

While Richie wasn't the weakest link, per se, he also wasn't the strongest by far. He wasn't as ferocious as Beverly or as intuitive and tenacious as Bill. Out of all of the Losers, IT was fairly certain IT could overcome Richie...Unless IT was making another error in judgement, of course.

* * *


	2. Tozier in Repose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie reflects on his life thus far

Richie was having an existential crisis. 

  
Actually he'd been having a lot of those. 

  
About once every other week, in fact, he'd find himself wondering just what he was doing with his life and whether or not he was satisfied. He couldn't help but feel like he'd peaked in high school. Only he never actually peaked, so where did that leave him? He'd hit a growth spurt, sure, and he'd even switched over from glasses to contacts, but those changes hadn't resulted in a spike in popularity. 

  
Not like with Bill. 

  
Bill had lost his stutter around freshman year of high school, not to mention he'd gained a lot of confidence after standing up to his dad for several years. Coupled with his quiet personality and Dicaprio-esque features, Bill became quite attractive to a lot of his peers. 

  
_I'm surprised he still wanted to hang out with me,_ Richie recounted. He'd taken a little longer to grow into his looks and still felt like he wasn't as...conventionally attractive as some of his friends. 

  
Bill had stuck around the longest out of all the Losers, but he'd moved away to go to college, majoring in English at USC. He'd still kept in touch with Richie through phone calls and emails but those got fewer and far between ever since Bill's work in his university's periodical got picked up by some publishing house. Apparently they offered Bill a contract? Richie hadn't been listening as well as he should have when Bill told him about it over the phone. 

  
_If I knew that would be the last time we talked I would've payed more attention,_ Richie lamented. 

He wondered whether Bill even remembered him at this point. And not just Bill, Eddie as well. 

Richie had joked about jumping in Eddie's suitcase and sneaking up to New York with him and his mom. That was just to cover up the fact that he'd been devastated when Eddie first told the group about the move. Of course, he'd gotten over it, especially when Eddie took the time to call every week and tell him how things were going. Eddie had actually liked New York. He claimed his mom was too busy taking care of her sister to constantly fret over his every move like she'd done in Derry. He enjoyed his newfound freedom and his new school, although he told Richie he couldn't make friends as easily as he had with the Losers. 

He also sent Richie lots of pictures; pictures of the places he got to visit, the food he got to try, the people he met, and of course, himself. Richie liked those the most. Eddie sent him pictures while wearing his school uniform and Richie had teased him so badly that Eddie never sent another one from that day on. 

_I should've kept my fucking mouth shut,_ Richie frowned. _Why do I always go too far?_

  
Richie eventually stopped hearing from Eddie and he took that very hard. He frequently found himself wondering what had become of the other boy.

Ben also sent Richie pictures from his apartment in Bar Harbor. He was the first of the Losers to get his own place and Richie was highly impressed. Ben also sent Richie post cards once he'd completed the program and began work as a traveling contractor. Richie kept all of the cool postcards from Ben around the perimeter of the mirror above his bedroom dresser. 

Another emotional blow came when Stan moved away; he went with his mom in the divorce and they moved to Atlanta. Stan was always quiet so he didn't call as much, but he always answered the phone when Richie called him. As they got older, Richie stopped calling because he felt like he was being annoying, or that he was bothering Stan, or that his jokes were translating well without being face to face. 

Mike never went to public school but he would often come to town to hang out with Bill and Richie and the others. At fourteen he had access to his dad's red truck and the Losers would pile in and go riding around; to the movies, to the quarry to go swimming, and even to a couple bars when they were older. After graduation, Bill left town and Mike had to take over more work as his grandfather advanced in age. 

Richie missed the good old days where he'd introduce the home-schooled boy to all that life had to offer. He missed how Bill would roll his eyes at Richie's wildly off-color commentary and how Stan would dryly chime in with more accurate explanations. Mike was always so happy, he would just smile and laugh and take it all in; he was always along for the ride, wherever it took them. And he always laughed at Richie's jokes, although Stan claimed it was just because Mike was so sheltered that he couldn't tell Richie's bad jokes from actual good ones. 

Richie missed his friends so badly it hurt. 

He saw Georgie sometimes since the teenager had a job at a fast food restaurant that Richie frequently drove through, but it was a little weird hanging out with a kid almost ten years younger than he was. 

The most recent encounter he'd had with one of his friends had been almost ten years ago, in fact. He'd hitched a ride with his older sister and her boyfriend and had gotten them to drop him off at a rock concert. At the end of the show, he'd had to use a payphone to call for a ride home. That's when he'd caught sight of a group of people leaving the concert grounds as well. Among the twenty-somethings was a younger, familiar face. 

Beverly Marsh. 

Technically they were friends--they were both Losers, after all--but they'd never really been all that close. She'd ran away from home just days after the group had rescued her from IT so he hadn't gotten a chance to hang out with her. Still, the sight of the girl had made him feel happy and excited. 

  
She'd looked up and over at him and his heart had skipped a beat when, upon recognizing him, she broke out in a soft, beautiful smile. He'd had a thing for her--who hadn't?--but he'd always treated her like she was one of the guys in their brief time as friends. That was probably a defense mechanism since he knew there was no chance she'd go for someone like him, not when guys like Bill existed. Plus it'd seemed like she and Ben had a thing for each other; the latter had brought her back from the brink of catatonia, he was sure that'd counted for something. 

Richie hadn't expected her to come over and hug him tightly. He couldn't remember whether or not he'd hugged her back, that's how surprised he'd been. She'd told him how good he looked and how much she'd missed him and how happy she'd been to see him again. All he could do was smile and keep saying, 'yeah, you too,' in response. She'd started to ask something else--perhaps how the rest of the Losers were?--but her friends started call out to her impatiently. She'd looked so sad, probably because she knew they wouldn't see each other again. That'd made Richie sad, too, but he forgot all about it once she'd leaned up on her toes and gave him a kiss goodbye. 

He wished he would've gotten her number. 

He wished he'd done a lot of things differently; he wished he would've tried harder in school. Maybe then he would've gotten into a good college far away like Bill or landed an apprenticeship somewhere like Ben. He almost envied Mike, since although working a farm was strenuous at least it seemed meaningful and that was more than Richie could say about the work he was doing right now. 

He had two jobs--a weekday one at the video store and another at a restaurant on weekends. He'd been working since he was in high school to pay for all of the things he wanted but couldn't convince his parents to buy for him, which happened to be a lot. Among those things was a drum set, music lessons, weed, alcohol, food, concert tickets, and a car. He'd lived with his parents for a while but they started charging him rent when he turned 25; he took the hint and moved out shortly after. His first place was a small studio apartment with the cheapest rent he could find--not surprisingly he got robbed a few months later and had to buy back his own drum set from a pawn shop down the street. After that he stayed at a motel until he could afford to move to a nicer area, which turned out to be the house he lived in now. He was splitting the rent with three other guys and was the only one who didn't go to the community college nearby. He'd thought about enrolling, but figured he had a better chance at launching his music career. 

While his roommates were in classes during the day, Richie enjoyed the large house and its amenities. He practiced his drums and made tapes of himself playing to send to local bands and organizations. He also went over his stand-up routine since being a professional comedian was still on his list. He stayed on the lookout for parties in search of entertainment, contests he could enter, and other avenues he could explore to make a name for himself.   
Some days were harder than others, but Richie had a way of bouncing back from that; it mostly entailed loading up on good food and a movie marathon, or blasting his favorite album while smoking a blunt. All in all, he decided he was pretty happy with his life, or at least he was okay with it. 

  
_It's not like I'm gonna jump off a bridge or blow my brains out..._

Richie considered that a win.

* * *


	3. A Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT stalks Richie as he goes about his day

IT arose from irritable slumber and ascended from the depths of its lair. Today was the start of a new day, the day IT would begin ITs arc of revenge on one of ITs least-favorite Losers. In the form of a long, slithering black centipede IT crawled through the intricate tunnels of the sewers, scuttling over bits of debris and human remains. By the time IT broke through to the outside world at the bank of the barrens, IT was utterly covered in filth.

IT transformed once more into a large, wolfish dog with bright, shining blue eyes. IT jumped into the water on all fours and bathed ITself until ITs silver coat was clean. The sprint towards the town dried ITs fur and made the creature look like a monochromatic husky. IT slowed to a trot once IT reached the city streets, ITs tongue hanging out happily.

 _Hm. Perhaps this form would be fun for a while?_ IT took in the town from ITs four-legged position and mentally smirked at the image. People were out and about on a typical weekend afternoon, driving their cars, milling in and out of the various shops and stores, waving and smiling at each other. They all seemed so oblivious to the evil creature moving among them and, at the moment, IT wasn't even masking ITs presence from them. IT padded along the sidewalk with ITs silver tail wagging.

As IT passed by an alley, a sudden scream pierced the air. ITs ears flattened against the top of ITs furry head and ITs head swiveled left and right. IT traced the source of the scream to the alley on the left; a homeless man was sprawled backwards on the ground with a brown-bag covered bottle overturned nearby, as if he'd just dropped it. He was gaping at IT with wide eyes and was babbling utter nonsense.

IT grinned at him in way that was entirely impossible for a normal canine and the man let out another scream. That scream was cut short when IT lunged forward and tore out his throat. IT felt so good to eat again, and the man's confusion and fear provided just the perfect flavoring over the taste of flesh and blood. IT left the man's mangled remains behind, which consisted of little more than skeletal parts and bloody clothing--IT had been ravenous, after all. The only reason IT left anything behind at all was because IT sensed the Tozier boy nearby.

IT removed ITs blood-soaked maw from the corpse's body and turned back to the street. A metal muscle car with sleek black paint, shiny silver rims, and a custom license plate that read, _Trshmth_ rumbled by. Obscenely loud rock music blared from the car's interior and, in the driver's side window, IT caught a glimpse of shaggy black hair. IT followed the car along the sidewalk and had to break out into a run so as not to lose track of it. The car finally stopped at a red light. By then IT had magically removed the bits of blood and bone from ITs muzzle. IT stared across the street and watched as Richie began to flap his arms and fling his head around.

 _...Is Tozier having some kind of fit?_ No, IT realized that the young man was drumming his fists and tossing his hair in time with the awful music that was coming out of his car.

He was so engrossed in his private jam session that he missed the light changing from red to green. A car laid on its horn behind him and Richie stuck his tattooed forearm out of the window and flipped the other driver the bird.

 _Classy,_ IT noted, then changed into a silver dove. As Richie drove forward, IT flew overhead and continued to observe him.

Watching Richie drive was like watching a wine glass wobble on top of a beach ball; disaster felt imminent. Somehow Richie made it to the drive-thru of a restaurant without incident, though his inability to keep his hand out of the paper bag almost caused a rear-end collision. Richie hit the brakes just in time, however. IT followed along as Richie drove through one the nicer, more expensive neighborhoods of Derry. He parked his vehicle along the curb in front of a two-story white house that was nearly indistinguishable from the others in the area. Each lawn was nice and green and manicured and there was even a cul de sac at the end of the street.

IT transformed again as Richie climbed out of his car with his feed bag in hand. After he used his keys to open the house door, IT slithered in behind him as a long silver snake. Inside the house IT trailed the ground as Richie walked towards a glossy wooden staircase and bounded up them two at a time. It took IT a lot longer to reach the top but, once there, IT squeezed through the gap beneath Richie's bedroom door.

His room was a mess.

It looked like a tornado had passed through and IT had to transform yet again just to get a full look at it: IT turned into a black spider and climbed from the floor onto the ceiling. There were clothes, shoes, belts, underwear, video game controllers, toys that Richie was probably too old for, and all kinds of other items covering every inch of the floor, to the point where it was difficult to make out the hardwood surface below. IT saw that Richie's room did have some kind of vague layout.

There was a king-sized bed against the wall opposite the door with a large black rug underneath it. To the left of the bed was a nightstand, and to the left of that was an open door that led to a bathroom. On the left side wall there was a horizontal nightstand with a large mirror built on top of it. Between the dresser and the bathroom there was a standing pinball machine. On the right side of the room there was a wide window with heavy black curtains that blocked all outside light. In the far right corner of the room, between the bed and the window, there was a black and silver drum set and stool.

Across from the bed there was a large television sitting in the middle of a short black table. On the right side of the table there was a landline phone and answering machine, and on the left side there was a black CD player with two large speakers attached. On either side of the TV stand there were two bookshelves. Instead of books, however, the shelves were full of stacks and stacks of DVDs, VHS tapes, and video game disks and cartridges. Below the TV stand there was a DVD player, a VCR, and multiple game consoles. Richie had junk over every surface. The top of his dresser was full of loose jewelry, bottles of cologne, pieces of opened mail, and spare change.

Richie had pictures lining the edges of his mirror and IT recognized the faces of the other Losers in many of them. The drawers of the dresser had clothing sticking out of them and couldn't close all the way. Richie's nightstand was cluttered as well, bearing a green and blue lava lamp, a dirty red astray, a microphone, some empty cups, and an alarm clock that was almost impossible to see behind everything else.

_How on Earth can he live like this?_

Apparently very easily, since Richie seemed unbothered by the state of his room. IT watched him shut his bedroom door and drop his bag of food onto the foot of his unmade bed. He then pulled his shirt over his head and stripped down to just his silver chain and black boxer briefs. IT could see that Richie had tattooed more than just his left forearm--inked markings covered his right shoulder and bicep as well.

_Why would he do that to himself? Wasn't he afraid of needles in middle school?_

IT supposed he'd gotten over that fear by now.

Richie sat on the floor in front of his bed with his legs folded and his food in his lap. He turned on the television and began to eat his burger and fries. He flipped through the channels with the same greasy hand that he used to ferry fries into his mouth.

 _Disgusting,_ IT judged as if IT hadn't just devoured a man in much the same fashion prior to following Richie.

Richie finished his food and crumpled the paper bag into a ball. He tossed it over towards a trash bin near his nightstand but, since the bin was already full, the bag didn't quite make it in. Richie hadn't even looked back to see if he'd made the shot, he was too busy scowling at a sitcom that was playing on his TV.

"How is this shit on the air?" He loudly complained. "It's not even funny! I could do better than that. They should give me a show."

Richie was all grown up. He was still pale and a little lanky, but his body was more defined, he had hair on his arms and legs and chest, and his voice had deepened quite a bit. His thick black hair still fell in waves all over his head and around his broad shoulders and his fringe hung low on his brow, nearly covering his dark brown eyes. That mouth he couldn't keep shut was just as wide and red as ever.

"God, this is what passes for entertainment these days?" Richie turned off his TV and stood up. "Pathetic." He stretched his long arms overhead and belched.

IT grimaced.

Richie went over to turn on his answering machine, then went back towards his bed and flopped backwards onto the mattress. He covered his eyes with the back of his arm and listened to the messages as they played out one after the other.

"Hi Richard," A feminine voice greeted dully. "It's Amber. I had a great time the other night but I really don't think I can get into anything serious right now, I'm sorry."

Richie snorted.

An older man spoke next, saying gently, "Hey there, kiddo, just checking in on you. It's been a little while. I know your mother would love to hear from you. Give us a call--the number's the same as it's always been."

Richie shifted on the bed, bringing one leg up onto the mattress and bending it at the knee.

"Hey man, we got your tape and it's just not what we're looking for--"

Richie abruptly got up from his bed, shut off his answering machine, and left the room. When he came back he had a bottle of beer in his hand was swigging it before he'd even shut the door. Richie went over to his drum set and sat on the cushioned stool. What started out as slow, rhythmic tapping on the snare and cymbals crescendo-ed to loud, frenzied banging. IT didn't quite understand the point or purpose of what Richie was doing but he seemed to be enjoying himself, just like he had been earlier in the car.

Richie ordered a pizza later on and ate most of it in front of the TV. He played video games for a couple of hours and then moved on to throwing darts at a board on the back of his bedroom door. He turned on his CD player, filling the room--the whole house--with music while he played on his pinball machine.

 _This one sure does love loud noises,_ IT noted.

Richie went back over towards his telephone and turned down the music. He dialed a series of numbers and then ran a hand through his hair as the phone began to ring. Whoever he was dialing didn't pick up and he was met with their answering machine. He sighed.

"Call me back when you get this," Richie commanded. "Seriously, Bill. Don't make me come out to LA and kick your ass."

The next time that Richie went downstairs, IT turned into a grey mouse and followed him. IT scurried behind as Richie went into the kitchen and raided the fridge, taking a large portion of chocolate cake that didn't belong to him.

_Can Tozier not read or is he just that inconsiderate?_

Richie washed it down with a can of soda and then went back upstairs to take a shower. IT followed and then transformed into a fly and zipped into the bathroom, perching ITself onto the silver shower curtain rod.

Richie liked to sing in the shower. Badly.

He also liked to touch himself.

Richie closed his eyes, tipped back his head, and started stroking and pumping his dick in his hand. IT scanned through his mind and saw flashes of things, _interesting_ things that IT filed away for later torment.

After cleaning himself up, Richie dried off and got dressed in another pair of black boxer briefs and then collapsed in the middle of his bed. He crawled under the sheets and slept for hours. While he did, IT turned into a small white cat and curled up on top of Richie's blanketed stomach.

_...He's much more tolerable when he's silent and asleep, IT thought while staring at the slumbering male._

IT later heard Richie's roommates come into the house but paid them no mind: once IT had begun stalking ITs prey, nothing was able to break ITs concentration.

Except for Richie's alarm clock.

It was so sudden and loud that IT arched ITs feline back and dug ITs claws into the blanket. Richie just ignored it and rolled over.

_Is he going to do something about that or should I?_

IT couldn't stand the obnoxious buzzing much longer.

After several minutes passed, Richie finally reached one long arm out blindly and snoozed the alarm. He knocked the astray over in the process, adding to the mess on the floor. Richie didn't wake up for another hour and, when he finally got up, he rubbed his eyes with a disgruntled frown. When he saw what time it was, he leapt up from the bed and cussed under his breath.

IT was launched from his lap but, being a cat, managed to land on ITs four padded feet atop a heap of dirty clothing. IT tried not to get crushed underfoot as Richie scrambled around the room in a frenzied panic.

"What the hell happened to my fucking alarm?" Richie yanked a pair of frayed black jeans up onto his hips. "Fucking useless."

 _Yes, Tozier, blame the inanimate appliance_ , IT rolled ITs slitted gold eyes.

Richie grabbed a wrinkled black T-shirt from one of his dresser drawers and pulled it over his head, then grabbed a black apron from where it hung over the side of his pinball machine. He looped it around his neck and almost tripped as he tied the strings clumsily behind his back. He then bent down to pull on some socks that were inside out.

"Tozier?" There was a thudding knock against his door. "I need to talk to you, man." It was one of his roommates.

"Alright!" Richie said. "Gimme' a second." He balanced on one foot and put on his shoes, which happened to be a pair of dusty black Vans.

Richie combed his hair in front of his dresser mirror and freshened himself up. In ITs opinion he used way too much cologne and not enough deodorant. When Richie was satisfied with how he'd thrown himself together, he dug his keys from his other pants' pocket and turned off his light, then stepped out of his room. His roommate was waiting for him with crossed arms but Richie bypassed him and shuffled down the stairs.

"Listen, Tozier, it's coming up on the first of the month." His roommate kept the pace with him. "When are you gonna' give me your share of the rent?"

"I'll have it ready when I get back," Richie told him noncommittally. "Swear to God."

At the base of the stairs his other roommate stood near the fridge holding an empty plastic container.

"Did you eat my fucking cake, Richard?" He asked with an irritable frown. "That was specially made, you know I'm diabetic--"

"I'll bring you some more when I get back," Richie called on his way out the door.

All the while IT trotted beside Richie in the form of a cat, rushing along as Richie returned to his car and dropped down into the driver's seat. IT turned into the same silver canine from earlier and settled into the passenger's seat, watching as Richie started the car and backed away from the house. The interior of Richie's car was a lot like his room--packed full of junk, that is.

There were clothes and shoes and fast food bags crumpled up on the floor, and the backseat was covered with CDs and jackets and hats and a duffel bag. Richie turned on the radio and flew down the street. He rolled down the windows and IT stuck ITs head out.

 _Ahh, that's nice;_ IT let ITs red tongue loll out of ITs mouth and stretched ITs lips back in a smile. The wind whipped through ITs fur in the best of ways.

Richie swerved into the lot of a moderately-packed restaurant. He parked in the back and spent a solid eight minutes rooting around his car for his name-tag. IT spied the tag within seconds, tucked away behind Tozier's back in the driver's seat.

"Where the--" Richie groped his seat and finally found it.

He clipped the black and white tag that read, Richard, onto the front of his black apron. He then dusted his hands off on his knees, raked his slender fingers through his wavy hair, and got out of the car. IT shrank down into a translucent grey lizard and scaled the Tozier boy from his shoes up his leg and into the breast pocket of his apron. IT had a front-facing view as Richie headed into his place of work.

Richie was late.

That was the first thing IT picked up on from the glares of some of his co-workers.

Richie clocked in on the company computer and was told to take over a section of tables near the back. He sauntered over towards an older couple and flashed them an easy grin.

"Hey, what can I get ya?" He took out his pen and pad of paper.

IT supposed that Richie was well-suited for this work; the young man was certainly personable enough, and he had such a short attention span--such a strong need to be constantly doing something--that the rapid bustling from table to table was a welcome challenge for him. He kept a smile on the customers' faces, despite some of the awful puns and jokes he'd crack throughout the night.

When food was cycling between the kitchen and the dining room some of it wouldn't make it to the patrons; Richie plucked various finger foods from the steaming platters and sneakily stuffed them in his mouth when people weren't looking.

 _Does he ever stop eating? He has a bottomless appetite,_ IT marveled. _Kind of reminds me of myself, now that I think about it._

The time came for the crew to close shop and clean up the building. Richie whistled and bobbed his head as he stacked the chairs up on the tables and wiped down the bar.

 _At least he seems to be a competent employee,_ IT begrudgingly credited.

Tips were split between the crew and Richie immediately stopped at a nearby drive-thru for a milkshake and some curly fries. He drove back home and went up to his room, checked his answering machine, and then laid down on his bed. He watched TV late into the night, fixed himself a bowl of milk and cereal, and then finally cut off all the lights and devices and went to sleep.

 _What an underwhelming existence,_ IT surmised at the end of the day. Tomorrow IT would begin the second phase of ITs revenge.

* * *


End file.
